Weep for Manetheren
by DarkWanderer
Summary: about the fall of manetheren, very heroic story!


[pic] Weep for Manetheren.  
  
Disclaimer: if i owned this would i be writing a disclaimer?, NO!.  
  
The banners waved fierce in the gusting wind, which brought with it the smell of a fresh new day, carrying away the scent of death that covered the ground. Men cheered and clashed swords and shields together with joy as the trolloc army was finally broken and sent fleeing. On the field on Bekkar the armies of Manetheren rejoiced. Ral Contra was there, and he cheered and jumped with the rest of them. Once again the unbreakable sword had stood strong, but even as he stood amongst the others cheering he felt a cold hand grip his heart. As the feeling passed a rider galloped forth, horse foaming with the strain, right to the very tent of Aemon al Caar al Thorin, the king of Manetheren.  
  
"Something is wrong," he muttered to his captain standing near by. "I can feel it." As if he had said some incantation the wind turned bitter cold and not a man there did not shiver in response. There was a slight arousal of the army as Aemon called his generals to his tent and then shortly after the captains were called forth. Within a short time the whole army of Manetheren had learned the news. An army of trollocs was marching upon Manetheren, too far away was the army of Manetheren to reach their homeland to defend it. That is what others whispered as the news spread to the other nations, but the men of Manetheren did not falter, there was only one choice for them.  
  
Still covered in the dust and blood of battle they marched forth from the field of Bakker, a field of victory to defend their homeland. Day and night they marched, their thoughts consumed by the sights they had seen, and the knowledge of the destruction that the trolloc armies left behind. Not a man could sleep knowing that such things threatened their beloved home of Manetheren. Moving with feet like wings, they marched faster than any of their friends could have hoped or their enemies could fear. Ral Contra was amazed at the speed himself, knowing full well that the march itself would be something for songs. The battle that would later ensue though would leave it a faded memory. And so the brave men of Manetheren returned home to defend their land and their families.  
  
When the Dark One's armies swooped down upon the lands they found the men of the mountain home waiting. Ral gasped at the sight of the enemy, and so did many other men with him. It was a sea of black. The trollocs mixed with their human counterparts and among the dark friends and shadowspawn the Lord of the Graves Dredlords marched as well.  
  
"The light protect us," Ral heard men mutter and then he turned to them and said. "No, the light be merciful upon those who now wish to take this land." With that a cheer rose from the throats of the men, their backs to the Tarendrelle they stood ready. Death was inevitable for them and they stood prepared to embrace it. "Three days?" Aemon asked the messenger breathing hard from his ride. "My men have marched like the wind and yet they tell me I have three days? Very well then we will not loose the Tarendrelle before then." With that he left the ten, armor gleaming in the light of day, sword held ready in his hand.  
  
As Aemon walked forth he looked out towards the enemy. A host so large to daunt even the most stout hearted of men. Ravens blackened the sky and trollocs blackened the land, but Aemon did not quaver. In the city of Manetheren itself his wife Eldrene waited for his return. His eyes shone like stars, bright and piercing, and the sword in his hand sent a blinding light in reflecting before him in the setting sun. With tens upon tens of thousands the Dredlords were confident in their victory. As the night came and their cook fires were lit. So many were there that they rivaled the stars in the sky. It was a long and terrible night; no man could sleep with such a force sitting so near to his homeland.  
  
With the coming of the dawn yet another surprise was unveiled. The Banner of Ba'alzamon waved at their head. Ba'alzamon, heart of the dark, an ancient name for the Lord of the Grave. The Dark one could not have been free of his prison in Shayol Ghul. The forces of the entire world could not have stood against him, but there was still great power there. The Dredlords and some other evil that made the light destroying banner seem to be no more than right, sending into a chill into the souls of the men who saw. The men of Manetheren could not be turned though, they knew what they had to do, and were prepared to down to the very man.  
  
Ral stood at the front lines as the first assault rushed forth. Arrows whirred past his head as the archers thinned the first line and then the men were given the command to go forth. With one voice the men screamed their battle cry rushing forward with swords shining bright in the sun. It was a bloody affair but as the sun sank below the horizon the men of the mountain had not budged.  
  
Against odds that should have overwhelmed then in the first hour the army of Manetheren held for two hours and then the next and the next. After three days no help had yet come, but the men of the mountain still did not yield. For three more days they fought, and for three more after that. On the tenth day king Aemon knew the bitter taste of betrayal. No help had come, or any messengers.  
  
"We can not hold the river crossing any longer my lord," one of Aemon's general's protested once again. "You are a fool. We can stop them here," argued another. They had been fighting over the decision for hours; Aemon with holding his decision until finally it had come to this point. His face was black with anger. No one had come to his aid, after nearly two centuries of helping others when they needed it Manetheren was to betrayed by its allies.  
  
"He is right," Aemon said finally interrupting the shouts. "We can no longer hold the river crossing. We shall go across and prepare ourselves there. Come let us make plans." With that they moved close leaning over a map of the lands beyond the Tarendrelle and talking in hushed voices. They prepared for the defense of the homeland.  
  
Ral stood watching as his brethren moved across the bridge which led to the other side of Tarendrelle. Ral had been chosen to stay and guard the rear, given the duty to set the bridge on fire as soon as the last men were across. It was not a plan that everyone was happy with but the bridges had to be secured at all costs to buy the army time to reassemble.  
  
"Look out!" the cry went up from hundreds of voices. The Dark ones forces were moving again, sweeping down towards the men guarding the bridge in a reckless rage. "Run!" Ral screamed at the men still crossing, waving the torch in his hand to get their attention. Men stepped forward to meet the oncoming rush, to buy those crossing just a little more time. With a terrible clash of steel the two forces met. Finally the last men were reaching the other end of the bridge, and Ral did not hesitate, thrusting his torch into the liquid fuel that had been poured over the wooden planks of the bridge to cause it to burn faster. With a great blaze it took flame, crackling with the heat. Still the enemy came and the bridges were still standing. On the other side of the river the men had set the other end a light as well. In a black tide that came on unrelentingly. Ral would not abandon his post though, not even to help those who had thrown themselves into the fighting early. He stood next to the burning bridge almost utterly alone sword gleaming in his hand. His mouth moved silently uttering prayers for his family and his soul and the souls of those dead and dying. His dark brown eyes burned with a fire that if released would have consumed the forces of the Father of Lies where they stood. Behind him the bridge crackled the wood changing colors as it burned.  
  
A mass of trollocs broke through the front line of men and came charging towards Ral, how many there were he could not have guessed. He was no longer a man but a machine, a machine of death made for killing alone. His sword swept through the first before they could utter a cry and soon another fell and another. The bodies piled in a circle around him, but none could break through. Finally the men of the front lines faltered and were consumed by the overwhelming forces. Ral faced them all alone now, bleeding from hundreds of wounds he stood his ground. Many died by his sword before he finally fell. As his body hit the ground hundreds of trollocs rushed onto the bridge, but it was too late, with one great creak the bridge broke and those trying to cross were tossed to their deaths in the waters below.  
  
"Go man, and hurry, the people must be warned," King Aemon said to the last messenger. He had been sending them out to all corners of his realm since he had crossed over the Tarendrelle. His people would be saved even if his army was destroyed.  
  
They marched on until they reached the spot where they were to set their new line of defense, for even as the messages were sent out the trolloc horde had already begun its crossing. The army would buy what time they could for the people of Manetheren with their lives. This was Aemon's plan, to save his people at all costs. The people of Manetheren were not to perish. So the men of the mountain fought on, leaving the butcher's yard before the Tarendrelle to create a new one on their very lands which hundreds of others had fought to protect.  
  
"You all must flee, find shelter in the mountains. The Trolloc horde will eventually break through and then it will sweep over this land slaying all that they find," Aemon's messenger declared to the leader of the small village. It was the forth he had visited already that day and he knew there were still many more he had to reach before the sun set that day.  
  
"I will not leave my homeland," a man declared in the crowd. "My father fought for this land, and his father and his father before him did as well. I will not flee from these monsters. I go to fight with king Aemon if running is my only choice," he declared and left to suit his promise. Others saw wisdom in his words and agreed. It had been the same for the messenger in many other towns' men did not want to give up what they knew was theirs. And so it was in many of the small villages and towns in Manetheren, a small trickle of men began to make their way to the aid of the army. Others fled at first, but soon they too saw what those who had first gone had seen, and they too left. Men and Women alike marched forth to defend their homeland. Shepherds with bows, farmers with pitchforks, even women shouldering what weapons they could came to the armies aid. They came to pay the price for the land that had been their fathers and would be their children's. None that came knew that they would return.  
  
Not an inch of ground was given without it being soaked in blood but the black tide of the trolloc hordes could not be stopped. Eventually the forces of Manetheren were driven to a place that would later be called Emond's Field and were surrounded.  
  
Sword in his hand Aemon stood at the forefront of the attacks, his battle cry ringing in the cold crisp air. "Carai an Caldazar! Carai an Ellisande! Al Ellisande! For the honor of the red eagle! For the honor of the rose of the sun! The rose of the sun!" And where he went others took up the cry, with one voice they screamed as they fought the battle cry of Manetheren, the battle cry of King Aemon. In piles the bodies fell, trolloc and dark friends alike, circling around the forces of Manetheren like a great barrier, but still more dark creatures climbed over those blood soaked mounds. There was only one way this day would end. Not one who stood under the banner of the red eagle would survive that day. Down to the last of Aemon fought a valiant warrior to his last breath, his last thoughts on the rose of the sun who sat alone in the emptied city of Manetheren.  
  
Eldrene sat in silence that day her thoughts completely to her king and husband Aemon who fought with his army in the defense of Manetheren and its people. A most beautiful maiden she was. It was said that the flowers bloomed to make her smile, but this day no flowers were blooming in the nation of Manetheren, the ground covered in blood, trampled by the passing of the large army of the trolloc horde. As King Aemon breathed out his last breath, the name of his beloved upon his lips Eldrene sat up gasping for air. "Aemon!" she said in a hushed voice, she had felt him die, and with his death so died her heart. In its place was only a thirst for vengeance, vengeance for her fallen love and vengeance for her people and land. She reached out towards the True Source, hurling the one power at the trolloc army.  
  
Where ever they stood the Dredlords looked up from what they were doing at the very instant, their mouths opened in a silent scream before their bodies burst into flames. They were consumed by fire and fear consumed their just victorious army sending them fleeing north like wild animals, killing each other and drowning in the river in their desperate flight from the land, like animals driven before a wild fire. Those that survived in the escape were eventually killed in other lands. None that did murder in Manetheren lived for long.  
  
As for Eldrene, she took in more of the One Power then was humanly possible to hold without aid, and as the enemy died so did she die, and the entire city on Manetheren was consumed with her, down to the very stone of the mountains where it sat. People did resettle in Manetheren but they forgot their past, becoming farmers in small communities forgotten by the outside world, and so the legacy of Manetheren lies forgotten. Weep For what is lost forever. Weep for Manetheren. 


End file.
